


we live in circles and it's so hard to breathe

by mimizans



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimizans/pseuds/mimizans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2 a.m. finds Natasha Romanov 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, encased in metal and slowly being choked by recycled air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we live in circles and it's so hard to breathe

2 a.m. finds Natasha Romanov 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, encased in metal and slowly being choked by recycled air. It’s been a long day, a long week, a month, a year. A lifetime, if she’s honest. A lifetime of brutal repetition and somber plane rides back to wherever Fury says home is. Natasha’s eyes burn from 48 hours’ worth of work, and her throat is dry from the drag of the air she brings into her lungs. She tastes the work of machines on her tongue, pipes and filters; parts of a whole that is both ceaseless and circular, sucking her further in with every breath she takes.

Natasha blinks her eyes and lets out a low breath. Dim emergency lights cast a milky glow over the cabin, and she can see Clint’s eyelashes laid out against his cheeks. Natasha has her head in his lap, hair pillowed against denim. She studies the underside of his jaw, the day’s worth of stubble that she can almost feel scraping against the inside of her thighs, the set of his mouth, tight even in sleep. It’s like star-gazing, she thinks, to look up and see him, familiar, and beautiful, and an part integral of her universe.

Natasha turns her head against his stomach and inhales, smelling detergent and Clint’s cologne. It makes her smile. She imagines she’s in St. Petersburg on a spring day; Clint is with her, laughing at something wicked she’s whispered in his ear. She imagines there’s a blade in her jacket, pelmeni in her stomach, and Clint’s hand on her back. Is that what home would really feel like, she wonders?

And she breathes.


End file.
